There’s a soft knock on my door, and I groan, not wanting to leave the warmth and coziness of my bed. I somehow prevail and pad my feet to the door, and when I open it, it’s a red-faced Olive. My roommate is pretty and slightly taller than me, which isn’t hard since I’m barely five foot.
“Sorry about Harrison. I thought you were going to be in the library till late,” Olive apologizes.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, Olive.”
“I know you hooked up with him two weeks ago. He told me.”
“We did,” I say, not that I was trying to hide anything. It’s just a little awkward to know you’ve both ridden the same ride. I wonder if it was as unmemorable for her as it was for me.
“I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings. We’re going on a date before winter break.”
Walking in on them fucking didn’t hurt me. The fact that he wants to court her, take her on a date—that’s what makes me feel like I got punched in the gut. It’s just another reminder of how I’m not good enough. It’s why I hate being at Mercy so much; I’m completely whittled down to being an Omega, and I can’t even seem to get that right. Nothing I do is good enough for these people or these Alphas. I’m just there for a good time and seen as nothing more than what my body can give them.
What is it about my personality or scent that makes me so unlikable to these other Alphas? I know that I’m not outwardly bubbly, and maybe I have a little resting bitch face, but none of them care to take the time to get to know me.
But he’s taking the time to get to know Olive.
“That’s great, Olive. Seriously, no hard feelings.”
“Phew. I wouldn’t want to make things uncomfortable, since he will be stopping by,” she says, and I nod my head. “Of course, only during specific hours.”
Alphas have to check in at the reception of our building, and then they’re escorted to the dorm they are visiting. There’s a strict time frame that they can be here, and the receptionist always checks in with the Omegas to make sure that the Alpha is a wanted guest. I can at least appreciate the concern for our safety. At least they aren’t putting us in a lottery to see which one of these smug assholes gets to knot and bite us.
Maybe that’s my problem with Mercy. Most of the Alphas here are smug athletes who think they’re god’s gift to women. Maybe I should make a rule: no more jocks. But it doesn’t help that most Alphas hold mostly physical attributes, and they happen to be attributes I really like. There’s something about abs, meaty thighs, and a firm ass.
Maybe I should give Betas another go. I’m sure they could get creative with the amount of toys that are on the market. But then again, there’s truly nothing as satisfying as an Alpha knot. Or Alpha pheromones, not that I’ve found any Alpha scent addictive. They’re nice, better than a Beta’s scent, but no Alpha has me wanting to roll around in their scent like catnip at the present.
“Seriously, it’s fine. Invite Harrison over. It won’t bother me.”
“Thanks, Charlotte. You’re seriously the best roommate,” Olive says as she walks over to her portion of the suite.
I shut the door and roll my eyes. Of course I’m the best roommate; I stay in my room, keep all my food in here, and basically never talk to her. I could have tried harder to get to know Olive, sure. But what’s the point? Eventually, Olive and I will part ways. Olive lives here in Raleigh. Not to mention she wants a bond mark ASAP. Being friends with Omegas once they’re bonded is impossible. Priorities change when you have a pack. Why set myself up to get hurt? I plan on moving back home the first chance I get. Why grow attached to someone I know won’t stick around?
That thought stings, and I shove the miserable feeling down. I’m already emotional enough. Thinking about my abandonment issues is not where my mind needs to wander. I don’t want to think about how my mom is turning seventy this year, or how my dad was sixty-two when we lost him. Or how I’ve navigated this designation alone, and I still can’t help but always feel lonely. No, these aren’t emotions I want to feel right now.
What I need now are some more snacks,Gilmore Girls, and my heating pad. That will be enough to get me through these next ten days. And probably my arsenal of sex toys, because as much as I hate to admit it, seeing Harrison wanting to actually get to know Olive makes me not want to let any of these Alphas even get a whiff of my perfume.
While I should make a promise to turn a new leaf, become someone who is more open and friendly, I decide to masturbate until I fall asleep.
There’s nothing a good orgasm can’t fix.
Chapter two
“Goodgame,men,”CoachKumerlee cheers as we all skate off the ice into the locker room. My nose is still fucking bleeding, and I want to go back out there and punch number twenty-one so goddamn hard he can’t remember what day it is. At least I tripped the fuck and didn’t get called on it—twice.
I rein it in, my temper a blessing and a curse. It’s the one thing that makes me valuable. I’m nowhere near as talented of a hockey player as Eli or in as niche of a position as Anders. Shit, they flew him across the country to come here and play. He’s going to be a goalie at a collegiate level for one season and then go pro. Eli will be drafted within the first couple of rounds. Sometimes I’m jealous of his talent and the fact that his parents paid for him to go to skating classes as a kid. I know Eli didn’t have an easier life, but at least money made it bearable.
What I do is brawl, my sheer size making me important on the ice. The fact that I’m not afraid to take a hit, or hit someone else is one of my strengths in hockey. I’m sure if I went to therapy, they would want to talk in more detail about why I enjoy getting physical and how it stems from my childhood. But I don’t plan on getting my head examined any time soon.
My only focus is to keep my grades up enough, so I can stay on this team and do whatever the fuck I can do to play pro. If I don’t get on a team, I don’t know what I’ll do. All my eggs are in this super small basket that’s so competitive and cutthroat, but I’m not sure how I can make this dream happen. I’ll even take a feeder team. I just have to be playing hockey in the states. I’d even settle for a team on the Canadian West Coast. But I’d like to be as far from Quebec as possible.
“NHL is watching, Martel,” coach says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. Nearly everyone in hockey uses last names or nicknames, but sometimes hearing my last name makes me sick.
“I know, coach.”
“You’re tough, and how fast you can move on the ice with how fucking big you are is exceptional, but you need to learn when to pull it back. It’s a brutal sport, but you gotta rein that anger in,” he says. It’s not like he hasn’t given me this speech a million times. “If you can get that under control, I think I can help you take this to the next level,” he says.
“You mean it?”
